


till there was you

by feloosha (gwencelot)



Series: Wishbone Week 2020 [2]
Category: RWBY
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Frat Boy Clover, Getting Together, M/M, References to Alcohol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-03-24
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:27:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23300125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gwencelot/pseuds/feloosha
Summary: They fall into a routine so quickly that Marrow doesn’t even have time to think about it. One day Clover is the guy who sits next to him in history and gets excited about his notebook doodles, and the next they’re meeting up multiple times a week, Clover plying Marrow full of coffee as he helps Clover retain as much of the material as possible.
Relationships: Marrow Amin/Clover Ebi
Series: Wishbone Week 2020 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1672663
Comments: 11
Kudos: 28





	till there was you

**Author's Note:**

> Wishbone Week Prompt: loyalty. 
> 
> Not exactly what I originally was going for, this one kinda got away from me. But I think it still works.
> 
> [See what's in the works at my tumblr!](https://feloosha.tumblr.com/wip)

With a few strokes of his pencil, Marrow finishes up the sketch he’s been working on for the better part of the hour. He tilts his head at it, considering. It’s not the _best_ drawing of a dog he’s ever done, but it’s not half bad.

“Wow,” he hears a voice say to his right. Marrow turns quickly, catching the guy sitting there looking at him guiltily. “I was watching you draw,” he admits in a low voice, ignoring the glares he receives from other students sitting in the lecture. “You’re really good.”

“Ah,” Marrow looks back down at the drawing with a shrug, lazily signing it as he does all his pieces. “It’s nothing.”

The guy cranes his neck unabashedly, squinting at the writing and mouthing Marrow’s name. “Marrow, huh? I’m Clover,” he says, fully turning in his seat so he can offer Marrow his right hand. Marrow puts down his pencil and takes it, nearly jumping at how strong Clover’s grip is.

“...and that’s our time for today. I’ll see you next week!” The professor calls from the front of the room. Not wanting to be late for his next class, Marrow quickly drops Clover’s hand to start putting his things away. He looks down at the sketch, hesitating before ripping the page out of his sketchbook and turning to Clover.

“Um, you can have it, if you want,” he says awkwardly, feeling a little bit dumb as he holds the paper out. Clover was probably just being nice, and here he is reading into it as actual interest. Any doubt Marrow has instantly fades when Clover’s face lights up and he reaches out to snatch the paper.

“For real?” He asks excitedly, bringing the paper up to look at it more closely. Marrow takes this moment to really look at him, and realizes, face heating up, that Clover is _really hot._ Sure, his whole getup screams “I’m a fuckboy,” but Marrow can’t deny that the tank top and loose sweatpants are _really_ working for him. When Clover looks at him expectantly, Marrow realizes he’s been staring, and he clears his throat.

“Yeah, seriously, it’s no big deal,” he shrugs. Clover gives him a bit of an incredulous look before carefully placing the drawing between the pages of his textbook, presumably to keep it from wrinkling. “Uh, I gotta get going, but I’ll see you next week?” Marrow waves awkwardly, shaking his head at himself as he speed walks out, Clover’s “Bye!” only just reaching his ears. 

_Real smooth, Marrow._

* * *

Next week, Marrow has barely put his pencil to the paper when he decides to peek at the seat beside him. Clover is watching again, head propped up in his hand, and grins when he sees he’s been caught. Shaking his head with a smirk, Marrow turns back to his sketchbook and gets started.

When the professor bids them goodbye an hour later, Marrow already has the page ripped out and promptly holds it out for Clover, who takes it with a surprised look on his face. He smirks down at the drawing—a cheeky shamrock—and stows it away just as carefully as he had the first one. Marrow bids him goodbye with another wave, but to his surprise Clover yanks his backpack over his shoulder and starts to walk with him. Marrow’s next class is in the hospitality building across campus, but he guesses Clover will go his own way when he needs to.

“So what’s your major?” Clover asks, an easy conversation starter. Marrow appreciates it.

“Don’t laugh,” he warns, smiling when Clover brings his hands up in defense. “Culinary arts. Baking and pastry decorating, that sort of thing…” He trails off uncertainly, but Clover’s face doesn’t hold any amusement, no patronization. He looks interested, holding the door open for both of them when they reach it.

“That’s so _cool._ Are you gonna become one of those awesome chefs that make the insane cakes on Food Network?”

Marrow bursts out laughing. “Uh, probably not.” He wipes a bit at his eyes, sighing wistfully. “I’d love to own a bakery someday though. Pipe dream.”

“It’s not,” Clover says with a frown, looking over at him. When Marrow only hums in return, Clover reaches out to put a hand on his shoulder, effectively stopping them. Other students grumble as they step around them, but Marrow finds he really doesn’t care. Clover’s hand is warm. “Marrow, you shouldn’t think that way, especially now.” He gives his shoulder a squeeze, smirking. “We’re too young to be cynical.”

With that, Clover starts walking again, and he gets a few steps away before Marrow jogs to catch up. “I’m not so sure about that,” he says, fiddling with the straps of his backpack, “But I’ll let you have it. What’s your major?”

“Marketing,” Clover says simply, sounding wholly indifferent. “That history class is an elective. I’m guessing for you, too?”

Marrow nods, figuring that was the case. “I don’t mind it too much.”

When Clover doesn’t say anything, Marrow takes a peek at him out of the corner of his eye. He looks… worried. Marrow nudges his elbow with his own, giving him an encouraging look when Clover looks back at him.

“I’m… pretty terrible at remembering things for stuff like this,” he says, looking sheepish. “With marketing you have room to be subjective, but when it comes down to hard facts…” He shrugs, trailing off. Clover almost seems embarrassed, but this—this is something Marrow understands. He’s done plenty of improvising in baking and art, but he’s lucky enough to have a knack for retaining information, too.

“I could help you,” he offers after a moment of consideration. He has the time, he wants to help, and, yeah, Clover is hot, he’s not blind. “Sometime before the first test. At least make flashcards and study guides so it isn’t overwhelming.”

“Dude,” Marrow glances over at Clover, nearly jumping at the look of glee on his face. “Are you serious?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Dude!” Clover repeats more enthusiastically, throwing a fist in the air. “That would be awesome. I’m gonna take you up on that.”

“Well, good.” Marrow says. They share a small smile, and Clover walks all the way to Marrow’s next class with him before he realizes he needs to be somewhere else, laughing as they part.

* * *

“So there’s a party this Friday. You should come!” Clover says. They’re making the trek to Marrow’s next class again, Clover completely ignoring that his own class is in the opposite direction. He had made grabby hands at Marrow’s latest drawing—a Leprechaun hat, much to Clover’s delight—before dragging him out of the classroom eagerly.

“Uh huh?” Marrow says warily, squinting over at him. “A frat party?”

“It sounds like you’re accusing me of being in a fraternity, Marrow Amin.”

Marrow stares pointedly at Clover’s backwards snapback, the letters of Alpha Delta Phi staring back at him in bold letters, and grins when Clover flips it around quickly to hide them.

“Alright, you got me, but!” he sighs dramatically, waving his hands to keep Marrow’s attention. “I swear, it’s not like what you see in the movies.”

Marrow twirls a loose curl of dark hair near his ear, looking up doubtfully. At Clover’s hopeful expression, eyes big and pleading, Marrow finds his will faltering.

“Uh,” he tries to think of a reason to say no, but he can’t think of anything that doesn’t sound incredibly lame, and he’s starting to feel a little bit sweaty under Clover’s attentions. “Okay. I guess.”

“Great!” Clover’s grin is bright and wide and just so _there,_ right in his face, and all Marrow can do is smile back weakly. 

* * *

The second Marrow steps through the door of the frat house, he feels like he’s made a huge mistake.

The place is absolutely packed, and he has to force his way through undulating bodies moving to the beat of the too-loud bass pumping through the house before he finally breaks through to the kitchen. It’s downright peaceful compared to the living room, but he still has to awkwardly reach around a couple making out in front of a keg to get his hands on a drink.

Marrow takes a long pull from the cup, in the middle of swallowing when a large hand claps him on the shoulder from behind. He turns his head and tries not to choke when he sees Clover’s face close to his, mouth stretched in an excited smile.

“You made it!” He says, leaning in to be heard over the music. This close, Marrow can see how green his eyes are, the handsome line of his jaw sharp in the kitchen lighting. Marrow takes another hasty sip, mostly for an excuse to tilt his arm up and dislodge Clover’s too-warm hand. Unbothered, Clover steps around him so they’re face-to-face, leaning casually against the counter, effortlessly attractive even in his stupid backwards hat. 

“Thanks for inviting me,” Marrow says finally, feeling completely lame. God, what is he doing here? 

“Are you kidding? My brothers are all so curious about this amazing artist in my history class I keep mentioning,” Clover reaches forward to nudge him, the contents of his own cup sloshing dangerously. 

“Oh… no. Those are just doodles.” Marrow smiles shyly at the ground, hoping to move the conversation along. He gets enough praise every week when he gives Clover his sketches.

“Oh, no you don’t,” When Marrow looks up, Clover has a more serious look on his face. He brings a hand up to point a finger at Marrow. “No, no, no, okay, come with me.”

Before Marrow can get a word in edgewise, warm fingers wrap around his wrist and he’s being dragged back through the living room, out a door leading to the huge backyard. There’s more room to breathe out here, but the night is still alive with hoots and hollers from games of beer pong, people around a firepit, and what he’s pretty sure is someone doing a keg stand in the far corner. Clover looks back a few times like he’s checking that Marrow is still there, despite never releasing him. 

They stop by the beer pong table where it appears one of the teams has just scored, a whoop from the left side going up as the tall guy on the right downs a drink easily. He crushes the red cup when he’s done, throwing his fists in the air to another cheer.

“Clover!” He says when he spots them, waving at his partner to take his place for the next round. “You want in? This game is almost over.”

“Nah,” Clover waves his free hand in the air, the other squeezing Marrow’s. “Tukson, guess who came tonight? Guess who this is?” He points at Marrow helpfully as if it’s not clear who he’s talking about. Tukson offers Marrow a curious smile. 

“I couldn’t possibly remember every guy you bring to this house, Clover.”

“No, no,” Clover waves his hand again frantically. “It’s Marrow!”

Tukson’s eyebrows fly up, and he looks back to Marrow with interest. “The artist?”

Marrow laughs nervously. “I’m not sure what Clover has told you, but I’m really not. My pieces—”

“Are amazing!” Clover has finally released Marrow’s hand, and he can’t help feeling a bit disappointed about that. 

“Clover shows us the sketches you give him every Tuesday,” Tukson says to Marrow, smiling when he ducks his head in embarrassment. “They’re really good. I always look forward to it.” Tukson glances behind himself when someone calls his name from the beer pong table, beckoning him back over. He takes a step back towards it with a grin, shrugging. “Duty calls.”

“Told you,” Clover says, walking backwards toward the firepit. Marrow follows helplessly, joining him in leaning against a large log just inside the warmth of the flames. “Ask anyone here, they know you’re good. You’re basically famous with my brothers.”

“You’re all drunk,” Marrow laughs. 

Clover leans in conspiratorially, tilting his cup forward for Marrow to see. “It’s ginger beer,” he stage-whispers with a wink, then shrugs, jostling their shoulders together. “Someone has to keep these boys in line. I don’t really drink.”

“You’re in a frat and you don’t drink? Isn’t that like, illegal?”

The smile Clover directs his way is far too fond, and Marrow quickly brings his cup up for another sip to hide his flush. “Someday soon, Marrow Amin, you’re gonna have to sit down and tell me all these frat stereotypes you have in your head,” Clover’s mouth curls into a smirk. “...so I can blow your mind with how wrong you are.”

Marrow makes a vague noise of agreement. _Soon._

He likes the sound of that.

* * *

Marrow stares blearily at the cup of coffee in front of him, willing it to cool down faster so he can chug it and actually wake up for the day. There are a few students milling about around him, far fewer than usual due to both the early hour and it being the weekend, so he’s not expecting someone to pull out the chair across from him and sit. Marrow drags his eyes up, staring.

“Hey!” Clover waves, voice way too cheerful for—Marrow glances at the clock above the coffee bar—eight in the morning. Marrow glares at him, but it’s possible he doesn’t look as intimidating as he thinks he does if Clover’s sympathetic look is anything to go by. “Hangover?”

_“No,”_ Marrow rolls his eyes, blowing on his coffee for good measure before taking a cautious sip. He hums happily. It’s the perfect temperature. “Just tired. I need to get that paper done for Port’s class today, though.” He sighs, taking another long sip. Coffee is amazing.

“I’m glad I ran into you then,” Clover says, bumping their knees together under the table and not even trying to move away. It feels nice, Marrow decides. “Still willing to give me a hand?”

Marrow tilts his head, not breaking eye contact as he brings his cup up and sips, sips, _sips_ until it makes an annoying slurping sound as he reaches the bottom and Clover whines, nudging him with his leg again. Snickering, Marrow stands and tosses the cup in a nearby bin, turning back to offer Clover a smile. “Of course.”

* * *

They fall into a routine so quickly that Marrow doesn’t even have time to think about it. One day Clover is the guy who sits next to him in history and gets excited about his notebook doodles, and the next they’re meeting up multiple times a week, Clover plying Marrow full of coffee as he helps Clover retain as much of the material as possible.

(“Clover, I can afford to buy my own latte once in a while.”

“You will take my latte and you will like it.”)

Marrow has lost count of the amount of times he’s been invited to the weekly frat parties at this point, but he still feels weird monopolizing Clover’s night every time he gives in and shows up. It’s embarrassing how much Marrow looks forward to opening the door of the big house, barely taking a few steps in before he’s inevitably intercepted by an exclamation of his name, Clover’s arm thrown around his shoulder with a big grin. 

Clover never fails to say, “You made it!”, and Marrow never fails to give him a long-suffering look, one that quickly turns into a smile as soon as Clover drags him to wherever it is he wants to camp out for the night. Sometimes he’ll round up a brother or two along the way—usually Tukson, always good-natured and happy to see Marrow—but more often than not Marrow finds himself alone with Clover, tucked away in a corner to talk until the party dies down.

He’s not even sure why Clover hangs out with him as much as he does, unless he’s just _really_ grateful for Marrow’s tutoring, but he’s not going to question it. It’s _easy_ being friends with Clover, and Marrow doesn’t want to do anything to ruin that. So he doesn’t ask why, and when he feels flutters in his stomach every time Clover smiles at him, Marrow blames it on too much caffeine.

* * *

“You’re an idiot,” Tukson tells him at the next party. He leans with Marrow against a wall in the living room, each of them nursing a red solo cup in their hands. Marrow has an exam tomorrow, so he just has water; he peers over into Tukson’s cup, scrunching up his nose at the foul color. He doesn’t want to know.

“I’m not an idiot,” he protests, moving his gaze back to the middle of the room where it had been before. It’s easy to find Clover, hair sticking out the front of his snapback and flopping around as he dances. _Badly._ It’s adorable. “Wait, why?” Marrow forces himself to look back at Tukson, feeling himself pouting.

Tukson sighs, throwing his head back to finish his drink all in one go. He grimaces, affirming Marrow’s suspicions about the drink. He points to Clover and raises his eyebrows. “He asked you to dance.”

“Yeah, I didn’t want to embarrass myself, but I can see now that clearly wouldn’t have been a problem,” Marrow laughs, watching as Clover does some sort of spin move that sends him careening into another dancer. Tukson shakes his head.

“He only ever hangs out with you at these things, you know,” he tries again, waiting until Marrow looks back at him and smirking. “I swear I can’t get through a conversation without hearing about this funny thing you said, or this incredible thing you drew, oh Marrow, you’re so _amazing.”_ Tukson chuckles as he finishes. Marrow is thankful his hair is too long for him to see how red his ears probably are right now, but it’s impossible to hide the dark flush on his cheeks.

“I don’t,” he stutters, taking a big gulp from his cup just for something to do. He swallows wrong and coughs harshly, using his free hand to brace himself against the wall. Tukson leans in to pat his back helpfully, but before Marrow can even thank him, he’s being pushed away and Clover is invading his personal space.

“Are you okay?” He asks worriedly, taking over for Tukson and resting his other hand on Marrow’s chest. His fingertips graze Marrow’s collarbone where his v-neck hangs low, and the touch just sends Marrow into another fit. God, he’s never going to live this down. “Come on,” Clover reaches down easily to take his hand, waving at Tukson before dragging Marrow along with him. Marrow lets himself be led, not that he feels he has much choice; to his surprise, they go upstairs, heading down a hall and into a room he assumes is Clover’s. Marrow’s never been up here before.

“Sit on the bed,” Clover tells him, grabbing his cup. “I’m gonna get you more water.” Marrow waves his hand in agreement, plopping down on Clover’s full bed. And that’s definitely a perk of being in a frat, Marrow thinks dimly, running his hand along the bedspread as his cough finally starts to settle down. He only has a tiny twin in his dorm, barely big enough to fit in. Clover comes back quickly, shutting his door and muffling the sounds of the party below them. He hands the cup back to Marrow, watching in concern as he takes a sip.

“I’m fine,” Marrow croaks, wincing at how his voice sounds. “Wrong tube.” He glances around for a surface to put the cup down on, eyes landing on the bedside table. As he reaches forward to set it down, he sees a familiar piece of paper.

“Oh, uh—” Clover starts, reaching a hand forward. He’s too slow; Marrow picks it up and smiles, running a finger along lines he drew weeks ago. It’s an early sketch he had given to Clover: a goldendoodle after he’d seen pictures of Clover’s from back home. The rest of the sketches lie underneath it in a neat pile, one for every week they’ve known each other and shared a class.

“You kept them,” Marrow says quietly, putting them back down and looking over at Clover with a smile. Clover looks nervous, but he sits down beside Marrow on the bed, knocking their knees together.

“Of course I did,” he says seriously, like there wasn’t any other option. Like he couldn’t have just tossed them in the trash, which is probably what anyone else would have done. “You’re amazing. I mean, they’re amazing.” Clover’s leg jiggles, his hand coming up to take off his hat and muss up his hair. He still has terrible hat hair, and Marrow almost whimpers at how cute he finds it.

“That’s nice of you,” he mumbles, as bad at taking a compliment as ever. He takes another sip of water, clearing his throat a few times at Clover’s worried look. “I think I’m fine now, but I should be getting back anyway.” Marrow gestures to the door with a shrug. Clover scrambles back to his feet, jamming the hat onto his head.

“I’ll walk you to your dorm!” He says quickly, holding out his hand. Marrow pauses before taking it, letting himself be yanked to his feet. Clover’s eyes are bright and hopeful, and Marrow tries very hard not to think about what Tukson had said. He really doesn’t need to get his hopes up.

* * *

They take their time walking across campus, Clover pointing out various spots of interest on the way.

“And _there_ is where Forest held a protest because the biology lab wouldn’t let him take one of the frogs home as a pet… Oh, and _there_ is where Adam got his ass beat for being a dick to a girl he took on a date as a joke…” Marrow only half-listens, choosing to focus instead on the way Clover’s face lights up when he talks, the animated way he moves his hands around as he tells a story. He catches Marrow looking at him and just smiles back, eyes crinkling at the corners before diving into his next anecdote.

It’s too soon that they find themselves outside of Marrow’s dorm room, Marrow fumbling for his student ID to scan. He steps in and leaves the door open, but Clover doesn’t follow, instead lingering awkwardly in the doorway.

“I’ll let you get to bed so you’re rested up for that exam,” he says, rocking back and forth on his heels. He opens his mouth like he wants to say something else, then closes it. Marrow waits. Clover takes a deep breath. “Do you… would you wanna go out?”

Marrow shrugs. “Go out where?”

“Like, on a date,” Clover says hurriedly, stopping his movements to look at Marrow hopefully. Marrow stares, heart starting to beat faster.

“Is this a joke?” He accuses. 

Clover blinks, eyebrows scrunching up in confusion. “No. Why would I joke about that?”

_Why wouldn’t you,_ Marrow thinks desperately, staring at Clover in all his beautiful, cool, stupid frat boy glory. He’s way out of Marrow’s league. But Tukson _had_ said… and now… “Okay,” he blurts.

“Okay?” 

“Yeah, yes,” Marrow breathes, unable to stop the grin that starts spreading across his face. He figures it’s okay if he looks a little crazy right now, because Clover’s smile is just as big.

“Great!” Clover says. “Great, great, great, cool, cool, cool, I’ll just, uh…” He takes a step back out of the doorway, stumbling a little over the threshold. Oh god, how had Marrow ever thought he was smooth? Clover shrugs helplessly, throwing Marrow finger guns and a wink. “I’ll text you.”

“Yep,” Marrow replies, trying not to laugh. He closes the door halfway, offering a little wave. “Bye, Clover.”

“Bye!” Clover waves back before turning and heading back down the hall. Marrow closes the door and leans against it with a sigh, feeling like a hopelessly infatuated teenager being asked out by their crush. Hell, that practically is the situation right now. He feels giddy as he gets ready for bed, checking his phone one last time before grabbing the light. 

It’s not unusual for there to be a message (or five) from Clover, but he knows what’s coming this time, and it makes the anticipation all the more intense. He taps his messages eagerly. Clover seems to have recovered his cool, or at least conveys it more easily through text. 

_You, me, that Indian place on Beacon Street, Sunday night. Be there, Amin ;)_

Marrow’s fingers fly across the screen, firing off his reply before he can overthink it. _It’s on, Ebi._

* * *

Marrow practically floats through the next two days, not even his exam able to bring down his good mood. He’s pretty sure he aces it anyway, as he happily informs Clover once they’re seated at their table on Sunday. He picks up the menu with a smile, freezing as soon as he opens it.

“I may have possibly forgotten to tell you that I have money,” Clover says quickly when he sees Marrow’s panicked face, reaching forward to grab his hand. Marrow squeezes it, feeling a bit light-headed.

“You can’t pay this much for dinner. On our _first date,”_ he practically squeaks. 

“First?” Clover smiles, lacing their fingers together. “So there will be more dates?” It’s adorable, but he’s completely missing the point.

“That’s not the point!” 

“But I want to treat you!”

_“Treat me—”_ Marrow chokes out a laugh, eyes falling to the menu again. “The bill would cost more than my textbooks.”

“Now you’re being overly dramatic,” Clover complains.

“I’m being the right amount of dramatic!” Marrow insists. They stare at each other, each refusing to budge.

“Marrow, I’m not trying to brag,” Clover finally says carefully. He hesitates. “I inherited my trust fund last year when I turned twenty-one.” He holds his hand up when Marrow opens his mouth to protest again, smiling gently. “Please. You can get the next one, okay?” 

Marrow clears his throat; he still feels weird letting Clover do this, but Clover is looking at him with a soft smile on his face, and he’s rubbing his thumb across Marrow’s knuckles so tenderly, so if he insists… “The dosas sound pretty good.”

Clover beams.

* * *

One date turns into two, and then three, and before he knows it, Marrow has lost count, and _dates_ have turned into _dating._

It maybe doesn’t hit him quite as quickly as it should, but he catches on when Clover pecks his cheek as he’s dropping him off at class and Marrow receives several dirty looks from girls he’s seen trailing after Clover at parties. Clover doesn’t say anything about it, and Marrow is content to ignore them. 

Still, Marrow thinks, they should probably talk about it. He’s gotten wind of Clover’s reputation for… _casual relations,_ but if the butterflies in his stomach have anything to say about it, they’re way past anything even resembling casual. They haven’t defined anything, and that alone makes anxiety creep its way into Marrow’s heart to plant uncertainty.

* * *

Marrow turns the book in his hands over carefully once, then twice, finally flipping it open to a random page. He peeks up from his table in the corner of the library, flashcards and notes spread in front of him, searching for Clover. He’s easy to find, leaning against a nearby bookshelf all tall and handsome and a little ridiculous in his bright pink t-shirt, and Marrow hates how endearing he finds it. He’s about to beckon Clover back over to continue their study session, but someone else gets Clover’s attention before he can.

“Hey, Clover,” he can hear the girl’s flirty tone even across the room, and it sends a surprising pang of jealousy shooting up Marrow’s spine. He drops the book, hands clenching. 

“Oh, hey Cinder.” Clover greets her, friendly as usual, but Marrow _knows_ him, and he can hear something simmering below the surface; disdain, annoyance. Oblivious, the girl flips her hair, looking up at Clover coyly.

“I heard there’s another party at the Alpha Delta Phi house tomorrow,” she says. Clover smiles politely, nodding. When he doesn’t say anything, Cinder struggles on. “Well… I can never find you at these things,” she pouts, stepping closer even as Clover is subtly inching away. “Maybe we should skip the party, go somewhere a little more…” She smirks. “Private.”

Marrow seethes. Is this girl serious? 

“Actually,” Clover says, still sounding pleasant as ever. Marrow perks up. “I’m seeing someone.” Then, almost as an afterthought, “Also I’m gay.”

“You can _see_ more than one person,” Cinder persists, ignoring the latter statement.

“Yeah, no,” Clover finally drops his civil tone. “I have a boyfriend that I’m very happy with.”

If Cinder has anything to say to that, Marrow doesn’t hear it. A pleasurable tingly feeling starts from his toes and courses its way through his body, gathering in his cheeks to make them burn, swirling around his head until his brain feels fuzzy. 

_Boyfriend._ That leaves no room for uncertainties.

When Clover comes back to the table, Marrow can’t resist pouncing on him with a kiss, and it takes absolutely no time at all for them to get kicked out of the library. He can’t find it in himself to care.

* * *

Attending a frat party as Clover’s boyfriend, it turns out, is not that different from attending as his friend. Now that Marrow thinks about it, that probably says a lot about their relationship from before they started dating. 

He still refuses to dance, but this time when Clover is on the dance floor, he maintains eye contact with Marrow, trying unsuccessfully to lure him in with the sway of his hips. Marrow waves cheerfully, laughing at Clover’s put-out expression.

“So that worked out,” he doesn’t even have to look to know it’s Tukson, his voice smug but fond. Marrow hums in agreement, sparing him a brief glance before they flit back over to his boyfriend, now twirling a tall, muscular girl around with a laugh.

“You gonna say ‘I told you so’?”

“No,” Tukson sounds amused. “I’m happy for you. Both of you.”

Marrow smiles, tilting his cup and head in thanks. He finds himself alone again when Tukson wanders off, but he doesn’t mind; Clover always comes back to him. As if reading his mind, Clover starts making his way towards Marrow from the dance floor, doing a poor imitation of a rope pulling him in. He’s stopped about halfway by a guy laying his hand on his bicep, too familiar. 

Clover smiles at him good-naturedly, saying something Marrow can’t make out over the music. The guy laughs exaggeratedly and squeezes his arm. Marrow takes a slow sip of his drink, trying to push away the jealousy pooling in his gut, but it’s not necessary. Clover politely extracts the guy’s hand from his arm and turns to face Marrow, grinning. 

“That’s my boyfriend!” He yells, pointing him out to the guy, who glares.

Marrow’s face hurts with the force of his smile, only breaking it to laugh into the kiss Clover greets him with, sweet and perfect.

**Author's Note:**

> btw this lil number is a prequel to a future Wishbone/Ironqrow fic wherein a few years later, Marrow runs a cafe, Clover is in charge of the marketing for it, and a little matchmaking magic happens. Look forward to that coming soon(ish) to an AO3 near you!


End file.
